


Tranquility

by SamichMachine



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: FUCK, IM SOOOO SORRY, LIKE THANK THE ARTIST OK, M/M, RIP, Tranquil, im an emotional wreck, im so sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 19:23:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3145751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamichMachine/pseuds/SamichMachine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garrett Hawke is taken and turned Tranquil. And i cry.</p><p>EDIT [12/9/15]: Sooo I'm going to be updating and publishing every tuesday, hopefully! Fingers crossed I stay on task, and feel free to yell at me if I don't! <3</p><p>EDIT [8/2/15]: Recently reworked so that it actually reads better better. because the last edit on this was god awful and I hate myself.</p><p>IN OTHER NEWS GUESS WHO'S WORKING ON ANOTHER PART (AND MAYBE MORE) FOR THIS!!! That's right, it'sa me. I don't want to delve too much into details, but I have the idea of either turning it into Anders/Hawke/Fenris, or just having Fenris and Anders bond (and become friends) over Hawke (which makes it sound like he's gonna die; spoiler alert, he won't). So that's officially in the works, promise. Feel free to message me and remind me to work my ass off on it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> SO mensrightshotline @ tumblr posted a CHARMING piece of art of Hawke being tranquil, and I knew, at once, I needed to write it. (They recently removed it, however, bad news, and seeing as they're prefer not to have their art reposted in other locations, alas.) I cried. A lot. Also listened to the acoustic version of Take me to Church by Hoizer on repeat. Like, it played at least 20 times. Probably more. I'm an emotional wreck. ENJOY.

It happened so quick no one could have stop it. They had been patrolling Lowtown, and found themselves in a small, back alley, that had a far too alarming dead end. When a horde of Templars flooded out of some building or another, they were swarmed. Fenris was knocked down in an instant, the hilt of a sword bashed into the back of his head. It was infuriating– that something that simple could knock him down so easily. He moved to push himself up, but a boot on his back shoved him straight back into the dirt, and he watched as the Templars all but surrounded Hawke. Just as swiftly, they knocked the human to the ground, although Fenris was unable see the blade they used to do so. Garrett, for better or worse, was curled up on the ground, looking like they'd beaten him black and blue, and Maker, was he winded. There was a small attempt on Fenris's part to crawl forwards– to reach out and help, but then the boot on his back dug in harder, threatening. They smote Hawke, the warrior realized after a moment. That would explain why he’d all but curled up into a ball in agony. A feral growl slipped past his lips, and he reached out to grab his blade tight in his fist. When shackles slipped around Hawke’s wrists, however, and a blade was pushed to his throat, Fenris froze. There was no way he could afford to lose the one man he loved more than the entire world just like that. 

He released the steely grip on his own blade, and it suddenly occured to him that they’d been caught. Hawke had been caught. And he felt the whole world swallow him up. As they hauled Hawke away, Fenris screamed the man’s name, begging, pleading, desperate to get him back. More desperate than anything he’s ever known. The heel of a boot to his face shut him up.

\-----------------------------

All Hawke can roughly remember was being dragged. Fear coursing through his brain, a silent praise to the Maker that, as Bethany had lived, she’d never had to undergo this. And then he was pulled to some empty room. On his way up there, in the shackles lined with lyrium, he heard another voice calling him. His world, however, was in a haze, the shackles causing him a mental and magical blockade that caused him to feel nothing short of fuzzy. Distinctly recalled it was his brother’s voice, after a moment. Carver’s voice shouting for them to release him– shouting to let him go, take him instead, do anything but this. It was beyond alarming, because Carver was usually distant in his relationship. He acted as if he hated his older brother, as if he never really cared despite the blood they shared. He protected Bethany and Garrett, certainly, but to see his true colours under these circumstances stung. Hawke didn’t stir, however, for Carver’s own protection. That is, until they stuck him. Suddenly, Garrett was brought to life, struggling, snarling, fighting against this until he felt that familiar dagger pressed to his throat. When a templar whispered threats about ‘that fucking knife ear of yours and your little bitch of a brother bleeding out,’ Hawke forced himself to still. Faught the rising bile in his throat, the desperate fear in his bones that threatened to make him quake, make him fall apart.

And then his shackles were chained to the ceiling, his body supported by some rusty metal and his own shaking self, tears threatening to spill over. Because this wasn’t how he imagined it would end. This wasn’t what was ever supposed to happen to him. He was supposed to do so much more than this. Was supposed to be happy so much longer with Fenris, was supposed to spend eternity and a half with him. They’d only just admitted their how they felt for one another, and had finally allowed themselves to get close. That it would end all too soon hurt like nothing ever could.

Then a brand alit, the lyrium hot and burning, held in front of his eyes by a templar with a disgusting sneer. The tears fell then, fear taking him in a vice grip, face contorting. A sob didn’t slip past his lips, however, until the the brand was burned into his skull. Then he was screaming and sobbing, in agony, body on fire, bones weary, mind weak. It cut off, however suddenly, instead replaced by a disturbing nothingness. A mind rotting numbness, a cold, hard chill that rocked his soul. Inside, he was screaming. Until, even that faded away. Until he could only hear the warped echo of a scream that used to be his. 

A week later, he was finally taken down from hanging there. His wrists were more that bruised, sore in a way only a prisoner could know. He was dragged back outside, and cringed at the light, at the harshness of it all. His body was a sickly colour, less golden and more yellow. More unhealthy, more pained. Coin was exchanged, and then his shackles were slipped into the hands of someone else, He was lead away a safe amount of paces, carefully following the other man, until he was unchained, and a soft, glowing hand was placed on his face. Testing, teasing, searching for something in Hawke’s eyes that wasn't there anymore, and an enraged noise slipped past the human's lips.

Not human. Elf.

Fenris, he distinctly remembered. This is Fenris. He used to sleep with him. Love him, whatever that word meant. Loved. There was a whole where that word used to mean something, a ripple in a pond where there was no bottom. He couldn't feel the emotions that used to be so clear, and instead, Hawke merely blinked. 

“Hawke, look at me. Please.” His voice was soft, pained, desperate. Hawke recognized all of this, but couldn’t reciprocate it. Remembered how they used to feel, but as if in a dream. He allowed his eyes to meet Fenris’ own in a slow drag, and Fenris choked out something between a sob and a growl, because there was a brand in the shape of the sun on Hawke’s head. It felt as if the universe was playing a sick joke on him, that his sun, the light in his world that was some roguish human mage, was replaced by something of a symbol of what was. What should have been there.

He lead them back to a place Hawke recalled was his own– was something that he wanted to call home. But that word didn’t really mean anything now. It was too warm, too emotional, too raw. It was a house under his name. That’s all.

Fenris sat him down, bathed him, and then he carefully placed his arms to drape over Hawke’s shoulders, wrapping themselves loosely around the man’s neck, gingerly, so he didn’t feel as if he were being choked. He let his nose rest in Hawke’s hair, and whispered an apology over and over again, until it became something of a mantra.

“I am sorry, Hawke,” he finally grit out, words hoarse. “I love you. And I am so sorry I’ve not said it before now, but I cannot live without you. I cannot,” his voice broke slightly, and he turned away for a quick moment, inhaling sharply between his clenched teeth.

“We can fix this, Hawke. We are going to fix this.” His words were hard, a promise, an oath, and something inside of Hawke wanted to respond. But he didn’t know how, not anymore, and if that didn’t hurt the most, Maker knows what did.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FENRIS STARTS TELLING PEOPLE FUCKING FINALLY.

The first person Fenris finally managed to tell was Sebastian. The warrior had been disturbingly absent from his and Sebastian’s normal meetups for three weeks now. He’d not meant to seem so curt, so rude, but Hawke needed him. So Fenris had been busy. Finally, Bodhan told him to leave for the night, that he was “going to drive himself mad with rage” if he stayed locked up in the house any longer, so he decided to go with the Prince. Better than drinking his sorrows away, anyhow. Or, at least, that’s what Hawke would have preferred.

So here Fenris found himself, with Sebastian was casually rambling about Andraste’s brilliance, per usual, when Fenris cut him off. It was blunt– fumbled at best and awkward, but he words spilled from his lips faster than he could stop them.

“Hawke is Tranquil. I found him.”

At first, the Prince didn’t know how to reply. He stopped mid sentence, confusion clear as day, and swallowed hard. Another moment passed, and then he found some words, although they were questions more than affirmations. “What do you mean, Fenris?” He paused, trying to gauge the situation, before pressing onwards. “What do you mean, he’s tranquil? How did you find him?”

So Fenris started off on his tale, told him how he’d finally managed to pay for Hawke, as they’d made a deal with slavers for something akin to more lyrium. It was the Templars’ corruption at its’ finest, really, and Fenris had only found out because he’d forced knowledge out of some Templars terrified in the woods. Scraping together as much money as he could, he paid off a guard friendly to Carver, and bought Hawke back, only to realize they’d done the unthinkable. Sebastian, however, was patient. Listening with a far too neutral expression on, nodding at the right parts, as if he was the most attentive man in the world. When Fenris was finally done, Sebastian let out a sigh, somewhere between long-suffering and pained. “Who else knows?”

“No one. At least, I’ve told no one thus far. I do not– I do not know how to tell them.”

“You must, Fenris. Aveline, at the least, deserves to know. Aveline and Varric at the bare minimum.”

Fenris nodded, and then headed out. Sebastian was done with him, they both knew that. He was to wash his hands of the whole matter for a long while, and the distance was something they probably both deserved. That, and Hawke needed him. Thought, the look of distaste on Sebastian’s face was more than enough for him to handle for that day.

\-----------------------------

It took him a week to muster up the courage to see Aveline, and break the news to her. Her office was lit up by the setting sun, and the books on the shelves cast odd shadows behind her. The desk was a mess, per usual, papers scattered about with more than an army of quills. An inkwell was carefully closed and stored as far away from the important documents as possible, and there was a spill nearby that explained its positioning. There were a few stains, here and there, one that was questionably red, but Fenris wasn’t the sort to ask questions about things of that colour. When he strode in, she looked grim, and her features shifted into something of a scowl at his mere presence. She placed the quill pen she was using to write back into the inkwell, and rested her elbows on the desk, balling her hands up into a fist and resting her chin atop them, studying the warrior. It took him all the courage in the world to press onwards, though he barely needed to try.

“Hawke is–”

“Tranquil, I know. Carver came to me three weeks ago, shaking out of his boots. How did you find out?”

“He is living with me. That is, I managed to… pay… for him.” And it didn’t get any easier to say that; to say that he’d bought Hawke’s life. It felt like slavery any way he turned it, and it was a bitter thing on the tongue. Aveline saw that, and frowned, but it was more sympathetic. Though sympathy seemed to hurt all the more. Fenris sneered at himself, nose curling up in anger, and he let out a feral noise from the back of his throat. He was about to say more, when Aveline sighed and shook her head, and then stood and leaned on her arms, resting her weight there.

“Fenris– for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. Hawke is a good man. I’ll do everything and anything in my power to make sure he remains safe, and keep an eye out for any harm that may come his way, or yours. Am I allowed to tell Donnic?”

It was that question that caught him off guard– that she was willing to wait for him to tell the most important person in her life. It caused a lump in his throat he hated, one he knows came with a sadness he was never fond of. Finally, he nodded.

“Thank you. You need to tell Varric. That way, he can tell everyone else. If you want him to, that is.” And it was a brilliant idea, really, except Fenris knows they deserve to hear it from him, not anyone else. Because he was the one who had found Hawke– not anyone else. He took his leave, and made his way back home, far more exhausted than he had known in a long while. All he wanted was to curl up with Hawke, to have the other smooth back his hair like he used to, but instead, he’s greeted by a stoney cold expression and hollowed out eyes, with a sun brand burning hot in his forehead. If he cried himself to sleep that night, no one mentioned a thing.

\-----------------------------

His dreams that night were burning and bright; fond memories of times shared with Hawke. Quests and awkwardness– a closeness that both of them had denied for so many years that it burned like the pits of hell. Disgustingly humorous banter and far too charming one-liners Hawke would mumble and order to get some sort of smirk out of Fenris, or, on the occasion, a laugh. Shared glances, tangled fingertips, stolen food, and so many more memories that hurt. That cut to the core and woke him up gasping, swallowing back ragged gasps and choked out sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so hiii guys. i'm gonna start publishing these on tuesdays, hopefully. this part is about 1k words or so, i think?? not sure how long the other parts are. but i have a bit written up and i'm gonna keep adding more as i publish!!
> 
> just wait. ur gonna get ur heart ripped out in another week or so. love you guyysss


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fenris tells MORE people. and regrets.

Two days passed, and Fenris finally had the nerve to trek to the Hanged Man. It was difficult– the last time he was here was with everyone Hawke could consider friends. Considered. Past tense. Hawke didn’t do friends– not anymore. As soon as he entered, a wave of memories flooded his senses, and it was all he could do to not turn around. Hell, he was about to, when his arm was looped with Isabela’s, and she tugged him inside.

Her smile was as warm as her body was, although there was obvious concern there. Last she’d known – last they’d all known – was that Hawke was bedridden. Fenris knew he'd get Hawke back no matter what the cost, but he also knew his friends would only get in the way. So he told them Hawke was ill. It was easier than the truth. If he got Hawke back safely, they'd never need to know what happened. If he didn't get Hawke back safely… well he'd figured he'd cross that bridge when he got to it. Sadly, he’d now run face first into aforementioned bridge.

“Shall I assume you’re here to see me?” She grinned, coy in her flirtation, but it was still present all the while. He wanted to return the smile with something small, if at all possible, but couldn’t quite make himself meet the expression, let alone her eyes.

“Varric, actually. I needed to speak to–”

“I’ll lead you to him, then! I was planning on giving him a visit myself. And don’t eye me like that, you know he’ll never betray Bianca for me.”

And then suddenly he was pulled up the stairs and into Varric room, whose eyes rose in shock. “Broody, to what do I deserve the honour of your presence?” he greeted. It was friendly, but there was a mask of concern behind his features that was evident.

“Hawke is alive, but he’s–”

Isabela dropped his arm in an instant and stepped back, frowning. The tone of his voice was instant cause for concern. It was normally heavy, sure, but this was more than the usual levels of brood.

“Hawke’s alive? You said he was sick? What the fuck is that supposed to mean!” Isabela exclaimed. She was about to say more before she was interrupted.

“Fenris, continue. Isabela, you may want to sit down, from the look on his face,” Varric cut her off before she could properly get her anger out. And sit she did, stepping past Fenris. Her eyes never left him, however, glaring murderously.

“I was not honest in his… absence. Templars took him from me– from us. And while they had him there… they turned him tranquil.”

It was so silent you could have heard a pin drop. Finally, Varric cut through it. He stood, his chair moving backwards so suddenly that it almost feel, scraping the ground with an ungodly noise. The dwarf was more enraged than any of them had ever seen him before, and he all but snarled at Fenris. 

“And you felt this was important to leave out? Fenris, what the fuck happened to him?” 

Fenris’s eyes widened in shock at the tone. It cut him to the core; caught him off guard and he almost stumbled backwards. Isabela hadn’t moved, not yet, except for her hand to go flying to cover her mouth. She looked green, almost, like she was going to be ill.

“You’re joking, right, Fenris? Right?” She finally got those words out, her hand slipping away, but they all know he wasn’t. In that moment of realization, her hand curled into a first, and slammed against the table, causing all three of them to jump.

“He was taken by the templars, chained up for Maker knows how long, and turned Tranquil. I failed him, and only managed to get him back by buying–”

“You purchased him?” Varric’s eyes widened, and the words were like a slap across the face. Because it really was as bad as he’d feared, and suddenly Isabela wasn’t the only one looking green. “You bought him from them?!”

“That was the only way I could get to him without charging in there and murdering everyone!”

“Isn’t that usually how you handle things?”

“I was going to, except Carver begged me not to. And while I normally would never listen to him, he informed me they planned on murdering Hawke as the people who were planning on selling them the extra lyrium backed out on their deal.” The explanation is sounded ridiculous out loud as much as it had, internally, but he’d been desperate. Terrified.

And that caused pause. Isabela hadn’t spoken since her previous doubt. She stood, suddenly, and shook her head. “I need to– does Anders know? Oh, fuck, does Anders know yet?”

“The abomination hasn’t a clue. Hardly any of you do.”

“Then who does know, Fenris?” Varric cut in, moving past Isabela and let his hand brush on her arm for a quick moment in a reassuring gesture. His voice was more steady, less emotional, because he needed to be the calm one. He was always the calm one, it would seem; he always forced himself to be.

“Carver, who must have seen him when he was taken. Sebastian, Aveline, who was told by Carver, Donnic, and, now, the two of you.”

Varric ran a hand up his forehead and into his hair, barely resisting the urge to tug on it. “Who do you need me to tell?”

“What?”

“He’s been missing for four fucking weeks, Fenris. I can only assume you let him stay missing for a short amount of time–”

“A week.”

“A week? Fucking– you’ve had him for three weeks, then. Which means you haven’t been able to tell us, and I can’t say I exactly blame you, but for fuck’s sake, Fenris.” He inhaled sharply, trying to calm himself, and breathed out through his nose. “But that means you still haven’t told Daisy and Blondie. I can–”

“I’ll tell Merrill,” Isabela cut in, rubbing her arms as if a chill swept up the room. And it felt like it had, in a way, with the grim news. “I can tell her– I meant to visit her today, anyways. I just– Anders. He needs to know.”

“I’ll tell him.” Fenris grit the words out, knowing he wanted nothing to do with him, but Anders deserved to know. Because if anyone knows how to fix it, or reverse it, it would be him. Varric scowled at Fenris, knowing as much, and offered to go with him, only to be rejected.

“I can tell him. Give me time, but I will. I should… I need to head back. To him. Hawke.”

Isabela’s eyes narrowed almost dangerously, studying him with a careful glance. It suddenly occurred to them that Hawke was safe, despite the previous lack of knowledge on his situation, and living with Fenris. Varric’s fists clenched. “Go, then. Tell him soon, Fenris. You have a week. If you don’t, I will.”

Fenris nodded sharply, unable to look Varric in they eyes even if he wanted to, the shame of it all smacking him in the face. Then, he took his leave, falling asleep as soon as he returned to the home he and Hawke shared. Another six days passed, and he finally mustered up the courage to find Anders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaand the next chapter may be shorter tbh. but anders's reaction warrants that. also bc it hurt me physicall to write. 
> 
> iluuuu thank you for reading. feel free to comment! if you catch grammatical errors or the wrong tense occasionally, call me out on my shit. pls.
> 
> ps. my explanation was a piece of shit and fenris agrees with me im really sorry but it's the best i got.


	4. Chapter 4

It was not like finding Anders was an exceptionally difficult task, seeing as how the mage tended to live in the clinic at all times. The man had been aware of Hawke’s absence, but barely. He’d had a multitude of people to deal with in the clinic, with an influx of an awful flu plaguing almost the entirety of Lowtown. The ill were all but strewn about the streets, coughing could be heard from anywhere you turned, and it was shocking there wasn’t a line out the door of the clinic itself.

As soon as Fenris stepped in, he was hit by a wave of nausea– reeked of illness, and death. Anders looked far too haggard, like he’d forgotten to eat, or sleep, or bathe, even, which caused Fenris’ nose to scrunch up in mild disgust. He only seemed to do those things, or even remember to, when Hawke was about. When Hawke would visit almost daily to check on him, make sure he was surviving and taking care of himself. There was a small pang of jealousy that Fenris had never touched on, but looking at the mage now, it suddenly made sense why Hawke did. Thankfully, he’d arrived at a lull in patients, and Anders seemed to have just sat down when the elf entered. He stood quickly, squinting his eyes in a quick moment to scrutinize him, before sighing.

“Fenris. You never– why are you here?” Then, something dawned on the mage, and his eyes grew alert. “Is there news of Hawke?” Fenris gestured Anders to the seat he’d previously sat upon in an awkward movement, which Anders took hesitantly.

“Hawke is not ill. Was not, anyways. He never was.”

“Then why did you lie?!” Anders demanded, and his features scrunched up in confusion. “Why hasn’t he been by?”

“Because he is tranquil.”

It took a moment for Anders to even register the words that left Fenris’s mouth– and he blinked, not quite sure how to react. While Fenris had been cruel in the past, absolutely, he would never play this sick of a joke. Right?

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, mage.”

“No I didn’t– you. He. Tranqu– no. Not Hawke. That’s not…. there’s not a way in this world that’s possible. Not Hawke. Where is he, Fenris? What game are you playing at?”

Anders’s mild hysteria caused the lump from days prior to enter Fenris’s throat once again, and he wanted to be sick all over again. Instead, the elf’s fists clenched, and he swallowed hard as Anders stood up, fists slamming down hard on his desk in a punch that seemed to hurt. It looked like it hurt, anyways, and Fenris flinched.

“No, Fenris. No. Where is he? I need to see him. Please.” There was an obvious look disbelief in the mage’s eyes, a desperate need for it to be false. And suddenly, things that Fenris feared were confirmed. The inkling that Anders had the same emotions Fenris had towards Hawke. Because that reaction was far too close to his own– clinging desperately to straws that the man he dared to love was still himself, and not some creature made by the darkest of humanity.

“There is a sun branded into his forehead, Anders.” It was the first time he had ever used the mage’s name, and it was like a slap to the face. Anders physically recoiled, staggering backwards and shaking his head. 

“Not Hawke. Not him too, Fenris. Maker, please, not him.”

“He is at the mansion. If you so direly need to see him for yourself, he’s there.” All Anders could do in reply was shake his head and sit back down, looking far too empty, too tired. It almost hurt Fenris to look. So he didn’t. Instead, he made to leave, only to be stopped by a pained voice speaking out.

“Fenris I– thank you. For telling me. I’ll be by as soon as I can. Probably sooner. We’ll–” he started, and then frowned, trying to find words, features scrunching up as if he couldn’t properly think, not anymore. “We will figure this out. I will find some way to get him back, or I will die trying. And you don’t need to say your sentiments are the same– I already know that. We all do.”

Fenris didn’t give him the courtesy of replying. He stiffened, eyes closing in a semblance of sadness, before turning once more and taking his leave, back to Hawke. Back to somewhere he so desperately wanted to call home again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo i may not have written anything after this really???? im trying to come up with more ideas im so sorry. if anyone has ideas throw 'em my way pls. also new record for shortest chapter!! <3

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT [as of 2/19/15]: So MRH removed the fanart from their tumblr, sadly, and it states in their FAQ that they'd prefer not to have their art posted in other locations. So that link is dead, but AO3 won't let me remove it. But don't click it. It ain't gonna take you anywhere.
> 
> IN OTHER NEWS GUESS WHO'S WORKING ON ANOTHER PART (AND MAYBE MORE) FOR THIS!!! That's right, it'sa me. I don't want to delve too much into details, but I have the idea of either turning it into Anders/Hawke/Fenris, or just having Fenris and Anders bond (and become friends) over Hawke (which makes it sound like he's gonna die; spoiler alert, he won't). So that's officially in the works, promise. Feel free to message me and remind me to work my ass off on it! <3


End file.
